


Where's the fun in doing what you're told

by Builder



Series: Science bros [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Hulks Out, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Science Bros, Sickfic, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Of course Tony wants to collaborate on a project at the exact moment Bruce is two floors above, recovering from an incident with a punching bag.  Of course he does.A Science Bros origin story





	Where's the fun in doing what you're told

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @builder051

The last thing Bruce remembers is JARVIS’s voice.

“Master Stark would like to see you in the lab,” the AI had said.  Or something like that.  Bruce isn’t sure of the specifics.  Things had already been shimmering green at that point.

When he wakes up flat on his back on the gym floor, Bruce still hears the familiar accented voice talking to him.  “Dr. Banner?”

“Hm, yeah?”  Bruce groans, pushing himself onto his side.  He’s surrounded by the shredded remnants of his t-shirt and shorts, plus a lot of sand and foam and other bits and pieces of the punching bag he’d been battling.  All in all, it’s not the worst thing he’s destroyed during an…incident.

“Would you like me to call for assistance, Dr.?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Bruce mutters.  He gets up to a seated position, but has to bend forward and put his head between his knees until the dizziness lets up.

“Your heart rate appears to be elevated,” JARVIS reports.

“Yeah, no shit.”  Bruce breathes shakily.  As the adrenaline rush begins to die down, a throb blooms behind his eyes.  It doesn’t matter that the feeling is familiar.  It’s still terrible.

“How…how much time did I lose?” Bruce asks, pausing to take a hitching breath.

“Fourteen minutes, sir,” JARVIS replies.  “And Mr. Stark would still like you to join him in the lab.”

“Yeah.”  Bruce straightens up and slowly gets to his feet.  “Got it.”

He stumbles into the locker room and finds a spare t-shirt and sweats folded on a bench.  The must be Steve’s, he thinks as he pulls them on, because they’re too tight in some places and too loose everywhere else.  He really should keep some of his own clothes stashed here just in case, but that would be a little too logical.  Plus, it would dash his hope that, save any extenuating circumstances, this is the last time something like this will ever happen.

Bruce splashes water on his face and gulps some down straight from the tap, pretending that it’s going to make a difference in how he feels.  It’s the same vicious cycle every time, and he seems to get out of it by pure luck every time.  The transformation burns six or seven thousand calories and leaves him dehydrated to the point of nausea.  What he needs is a gallon of chocolate milk, but the thought of swallowing anything with flavor makes him salivate in a way that’s less than pleasant.

Bruce’s sinuses ache.  He spits out the water in his mouth and reaches for a towel.  It’s probably his mind playing tricks, but the white fabric looks like it’s tinged chartreuse when he pulls it away from his sweaty face.  “It’s fine.  You’re fine,” he murmurs to himself.

“Sorry to continue to bother you, Dr. Banner,” JARVIS pipes up again, “But Sir is insistent.”

“Of course he is.  Don’t worry about it.”  Bruce throws the towel into the laundry bin and heads for the door.  A couple of Tony’s bots are already cleaning up the mess of the busted punching bag, and Bruce pointedly doesn’t look at them as he crosses the gym.  He bypasses the elevator and starts down the stairs instead.  He’s steadier on his feet than he was a moment ago, but he still feels sick.  He hopes he’ll be able to dispense with Tony quickly and retire to his room with a box of saltines.

Bruce takes a measured breath before pushing open the door to the lab.  “Hey, Tony,” he says with as much gusto as he can muster.  It isn’t much.  Bruce cringes at his breathlessness.

“Hey…”  Tony doesn’t look up from the arc reactor he’s fiddling with.  “I’ve got a question for you…”

“Yeah, what?  JARVIS told me to come down here…”  Bruce suddenly has too much spit in his mouth, and he struggles to swallow it down.  “Like four times.”

Tony finally sets down his screwdriver.  He makes eye contact with Bruce across the lab.  “What’s wrong with you?” he asks.

“Nothing.  Just an occupational hazard, I guess.”  Bruce grabs the back of a chair and tries to suck in a breath.  His chest feels constricted, though, and fresh sweat breaks out over his brow.  His heart rate begins to quicken again.

“Are you gonna…?”

Tony’s voice gets quieter and further away.  Bruce feels himself sway on his feet as pressure and bitterness burst into his throat.

“Ok, I’m not letting you puke in the lab.”  Tony roughly pushes him into the bathroom and lifts the lid on the toilet just in time for Bruce to jolt forward and heave violently.  It’s just water first, then breakfast comes back in a torrential splash, and then more in a series of weaker retches that leave him struggling for control over his spasming stomach.

“I thought you burned through all your food when you did your mean and green thing,” Tony says, wrinkling his nose and handing Bruce a wad of toilet paper.

Bruce spits and wipes his mouth.  “I do,” he pants.  “But it’s a stressor, you know, like fight or flight.”  He flushes the toilet, then dabs at his sweaty forehead with his sleeve.  “It stops the digestive process…”

“Yeah, I don’t really want to know,” Tony says.  “Will water help?  Or will that make you hurl again?  Cause if you’re gonna do that, I think you should probably go somewhere else.”

Bruce struggles to catch his breath.  “I…I think I’m good.”

“You sure?  I mean, I’ve got hangover supplies down here, but I’m not wasting them on you if you’re just gonna keep…you know.”

Bruce gets shakily to his feet.  “I might be off for a while,” he admits, “But I think I’m ok.”  His headache’s dialed up, but the nausea’s tapering.

“Ok then,” Tony says, leaving the bathroom and opening the mini-fridge under his desk.  “Ginger ale or Gatorade?”

“God.  Both,” Bruce says, flopping down in a swivel chair.

“Thirsty much?”  Tony shuts the fridge, then offers a bottle in one hand and a can in the other.

“Dehydrated,” Bruce corrects him.  “And starving.  Literally.”

“Right.”

Bruce unscrews the cap on the Gatorade and takes a tentative sip while Tony settles back behind his desk.  He picks up the arc reactor and gives it a tap.  “See this?  See how it’s bigger than the ones I use?”  He looks at Bruce, barely containing a grin.

Bruce swallows.  “Uh.  Yeah?”

“What would you think about your own suit?”

“Huh?”  Bruce doesn’t trust himself to process the words correctly.  “Like, for the other guy?”

“It would be adaptable, of course,” Tony says.  “For you or, uh, him.  You know, to fight him or something, if you needed it.”  He shrugs.  “Just an idea.”

“Hm,” Bruce muses.  He takes another sip of the sports drink.  “Ok.”

Tony pulls a holographic screen out of midair.  “Here’s the design I worked up.  But I need your input, for all the special features and stuff.”

“Wow.  That’s…that’s really generous.”  Bruce quells a belch behind his hand.  “Sorry.”

“Naw, this is fun,” Tony says, grinning.  “As long as you’re not gonna puke on my keyboard or anything.”

“No,” Bruce laughs.  “I promise, I’m not gonna do that.”

“Alright, then.”  Tony pulls his chair up beside Bruce’s.  “Let’s get to work.”


End file.
